Jacob's Ladder - free ebook by E. Phillips (Edward Phillips) Oppenheim

LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY

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PROLOGUE

Seated at breakfast on that memorable July morning, Jacob Pratt presented all the appearance of a disconsolate man. His little country sitting-room was as neat and tidy as the capable hands of the inimitable Mrs. Harris could make it. His coffee was hot and his eggs were perfectly boiled. Through the open windows stretched a little vista of the many rows of standard roses which had been the joy of his life. Yet blank misery dwelt in the soul of this erstwhile cheerful little man, and the spirit

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CHAPTER I

Precisely two years later, Jacob Pratt sat once more in his cottage sitting-room, contemplating the remains of a barely tasted breakfast. Before him, read for the fiftieth time, were the wonderful letters, in his brain a most amazing confusion, in his heart an almost hysterical joy. Presently Mrs. Harris brought in his hat and stick. “You’ll excuse my mentioning it, sir,” she said, looking at the former a little disparagingly, “but, brush though I may, there’s no doing much with this hat of your

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CHAPTER II

The melancholy man was seated in his favourite corner, gazing out at the landscape. He scarcely looked up as Jacob entered. It chanced that they were alone. “Richard Dauncey,” Jacob said impressively, as soon as the train had started again, “you once sat in that corner and smiled at me when I got in. I think you also wished me good morning and admired my rose.” “It was two years ago,” Dauncey assented. “Did you ever hear of a man,” Jacob went on, “who made his fortune with a smile? Of course not

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CHAPTER III

At twelve o’clock, Jacob was in Regent Street, and at one o’clock, in a new blue serge suit, shirt, collar and tie of the latest pattern, he was dividing his time between admiring his reflection in the mirror and waiting in the entrance hall of Simpson’s. Dauncey’s coming was, in its way, pathetic. With a pessimism engendered by years of misfortune, he had found it impossible to preserve throughout the morning the exultation of those first few minutes with Jacob in the railway carriage. He enter

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CHAPTER IV

Mr. Edward Bultiwell, of the House of Bultiwell and Sons, sat alone in his private office, one morning a week or so later, and communed with ghosts. It was a large apartment, furnished in mid-Victorian fashion, and, with the exception of the telephone and electric light, destitute of any of the modern aids to commercial enterprise. Oil paintings of Mr. Bultiwell’s father and grandfather hung upon the walls. A row of stiff, horsehair chairs with massive frames stood around the room, one side of w

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CHAPTER V

Jacob, in the midst of those pleasant activities necessitated by his change of fortunes, found time to write a letter. He wrote it with great care and after many revisions, and not until after it was dispatched did he realise with how much anxiety he awaited the reply. The Cottage, Marlingden. Dear Miss Bultiwell, I am venturing to write these few lines to assure you of my very deep sympathy with you in the loss which you have sustained, and I beg also to express the earnest hope that you will n

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CHAPTER VI

The acquisition of West End premises presented no particular difficulty, and in a few weeks’ time behold a transformed and glorified Jacob Pratt, seated in a cushioned swivel chair before a roll-top desk, in an exceedingly handsomely appointed office overlooking Waterloo Place. The summit of one of his ambitions had been easily gained. The cut of his black morning coat and neat grey trousers, the patent shoes and spats, his irreproachable linen, and the modest but beautiful pearl pin which repos

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CHAPTER VII

Jacob found life, for the next few months, an easy and a pleasant thing. He took a prolonged summer holiday and made many acquaintances at a fashionable French watering place, where he devoted more time to golf than gambling, but made something of a reputation at both pursuits. He came back to London bronzed and in excellent health, but always with a curious sense of something wanting in his life, an emptiness of purpose, which he could never altogether shake off. He was a liberal patron of the

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CHAPTER VIII

Miss Sybil Bultiwell showed that she had a very pretty taste in food even if her weaknesses in other directions were undiscoverable. Seated at a table for two in Jacob’s favourite corner at the Ritz grill-room, she ordered langouste with mayonnaise, a French chicken with salad, an artichoke, a vanilla ice, and some wonderful forced strawberries. She drank a cocktail and shared to a moderate extent the bottle of very excellent dry champagne which her companion insisted upon. The aloofness of her

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CHAPTER IX

The opportunity for an explanation between Jacob and his fellow speculators speedily presented itself. Amongst his letters, on the following morning, Jacob found a somewhat pompous little note from Dane Montague, inviting him to lunch at the Milan at half-past one. Littleham, supremely uncomfortable in a new suit of clothes, was the other guest, and champagne was served before the three men had well taken their places. “A celebration, eh?” Jacob observed, as he bowed to his two hosts. Mr. Montag

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CHAPTER X

Houses sprang up like mushrooms on the Cropstone Wood Estate, and rents were soon at a premium. Mr. Littleham’s activities were transferred, by arrangement with Jacob, to a builder of more conservative type, and the Estate speedily became one of the show places of the neighbourhood. It combined the conveniences of a suburb with the advantages of a garden city. The special motor-omnibuses, run by the Company, connected the place with the railway. The telephone company were induced to open an exch

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CHAPTER XI

Jacob sought distraction in the golfing resorts of England and the Continent, tried mountaineering in Switzerland, at which he had some success, and finally, with the entire Dauncey ménage, took a small moor near the sea in Scotland, and in the extreme well-being of physical content found a species of happiness which sufficed well enough for the time. It was early winter before he settled down in London again, with the firm determination of neither writing to nor making any enquiries concerning

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CHAPTER XII

Dauncey accepted his chief’s invitation, one morning about a week later, when things were slack, to sit in his room and have a chat. “How goes the dancing?” he enquired, stretching out his hand for a cigarette. “Interesting developments may shortly be expected,” Jacob replied reflectively. “Up to the present, only two of the party have declared themselves. Mr. Mason has made propositions to me with regard to finding the money for starting a night club, and Mr. Hartwell has offered me a share in

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CHAPTER XIII

It must have been, Jacob decided, about half an hour later when his senses readjusted themselves to his existing environment. He was in what had apparently been the kitchen, situated in the basement of the house, seated in a fairly comfortable chair to which he was tied by cords. Hartwell and Mason were watching him with the air of uneasy conspirators. Sybil, perfectly composed, was lounging in a wicker chair a little way off, smoking a cigarette. The black man who he had been told was the leade

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CHAPTER XIV

Jacob, on the following morning, received a pencilled epistle from Sybil which brought him little satisfaction. There was no orthodox commencement, and it was written on sheets of paper torn apparently from a block: I have been asking myself, on my way into exile—where I am going to stay with some pestilential relatives in Devonshire—exactly why I dislike you more and more every time we come into contact with one another, and I have come to the conclusion that it is because in our controversies

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CHAPTER XV

Jacob lingered for a month in Monte Carlo. While he found little to attract him in the gambling or the social side of the place, the glorious climate, the perpetual sunshine, the fine air of La Turbie, and a pleasing succession of golf victories helped him to pass the time pleasantly. He spent a week at Cannes on the way back, making wonderful progress in his tennis, and from there he hired a motor-car and spent a fortnight at Aix. He reached London early in May, to find Dauncey unchanged and hi

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CHAPTER XVI

Spring came, and Jacob found the monotony of life relieved by a leisurely motor trip through the south of England, during which he stopped to play golf occasionally at various well-known courses. He returned to London in June, and on the second day of Ascot he came across Felixstowe, for the first time since their meeting in Monte Carlo. The young man’s greeting was breezy and devoid of any embarrassment. The little matter of the pony did not appear to trouble him. “Jacob, old heart!” he exclaim

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CHAPTER XVII

“The aristocracy,” Dauncey remarked the next morning, as he brought Jacob his private letters, “is sitting up and taking notice of us. Two coronets!” “Anything in the rest of the correspondence?” Jacob enquired, as he opened his desk and made himself comfortable. “Nothing worth your troubling about. Five or six addle-headed schemes for getting rid of your money, and about as many bucket shop prospectuses.” Jacob opened the first of his two letters. It was dated from Belgrave Square and was simpl

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CHAPTER XVIII

Jacob, on his return from the telephone, found to his surprise a familiar figure seated before the piano in the long drawing-room, an apartment more picturesque than ever now in the shaded lamplight, with its faded yellow satin furniture, its amber hangings, and its quaint perfume of bygone days. Lady Mary came to meet him. “You see what I have done for you,” she whispered. “Miss Bultiwell!” Lady Mary nodded. “You’ll have to be careful, though,” she warned him. “I can see that there has been som

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CHAPTER XIX

In the course of his financial peregrinations amongst the highways and byways of the city, Mr. Dane Montague made many acquaintances. It chanced that soon after the exploitation of the Shoreditch Empress Music Hall, a flotation which brought Mr. Montague many admirers from the underworlds of finance, it fell to his lot to give a luncheon party to celebrate the culmination of a subsidiary financial swindle and to plan further activities in the same direction. His guests were Philip Mason, the wel

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CHAPTER XX

Jacob, sleepy-eyed and desperately hungry, tumbled out of the train, a few mornings later, on to a lone stretch of platform, to find himself confronted by an exceedingly pleasant sight. Only a few yards away, on the other side of some white palings, Lady Mary, in a tartan skirt, light coat and tartan tam-o’-shanter, was seated in a four-wheeled dogcart, doing her best to control a pair of shaggy, excited ponies. “Come along, Mr. Pratt,” she called out, “and jump in as quickly as you can. These l

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CHAPTER XXI

Jacob watched the departure of his host, through a slit in the wall, with fascinated eyes. First of all he saw him paddle across the channel to the other side, secure the boat and pause to light a cigarette. Afterwards, on his way back to the Castle, he entered the walled gardens, plucked a peach from the wall and ate it. Finally he disappeared down one of the yew-bordered walks. The house still seemed wrapped in slumber. Jacob took stock of his surroundings. The walls which, to judge from the s

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CHAPTER XXII

From that time onward, notwithstanding Jacob’s unbroken composure, time began to hang heavily. Towards evening, he pulled up one of his strings and found sandwiches and whisky enough to keep him going. He received no more visitors, friendly or otherwise, and he listened in vain until nightfall for the sound of Lady Mary’s boat. In the morning, however, he was awakened early by the sound of her whistle below. The room was half full of grey mist. Leaning out of the aperture, he could scarcely dist

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CHAPTER XXIII

With a sigh of relief, Jacob handed his driver to the caddy and watched the career of a truly hit ball down the smooth fairway. There was a little murmur of applause from a hundred or so of onlookers. By that stroke, Jacob had opened the Cropstone Wood Golf Links. “Pretty certain where your name will come on the handicap list, Mr. Pratt,” his opponent observed, after his own somewhat inferior effort. “If I can qualify for scratch,” Jacob replied, as they marched off together, first of twenty-thr

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CHAPTER XXIV

Felixstowe carefully concluded the enfolding of Jacob’s outstretched form in an enormous rug, placed a tumbler of soda water and some dry biscuits within easy reach of him, and stepped back to inspect his handiwork. “A bit drawn about the gills, old top,” he remarked sympathetically. “How are you feeling now?” “Better,” Jacob murmured weakly. “And kindly remember that I am your employer, and don’t call me ‘old top.’” “Sorry,” was the cheerful reply. “One has to drop into this sort of thing by de

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CHAPTER XXV

They steamed slowly past the Statue of Liberty, early in the afternoon a few days later. Jacob and his young companion were leaning over the rail, watching the great, tangled city slowly define itself through a shroud of mist. “One good thing about this voyage,” the latter remarked sympathetically, “it’s taken your mind off yourself—made you forget your troubles, in a kind of way.” “You mean about poor Sam?” “I’m afraid I wasn’t thinking about your brother,” Felixstowe confessed. “I was thinking

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CHAPTER XXVI

Soon after breakfast, on the following morning, Doctor Bardolf was shown into Jacob’s sitting-room. He held his watch in his hand. Outside the house, the engine of his great automobile was purring gently. “No change, Mr. Pratt,” he announced. “All the symptoms, however, continue to be decidedly favourable.” “Capital!” Jacob exclaimed. “When shall you be here again?” “I am coming in this afternoon, simply in case that slight alteration in my patient’s condition should have occurred, which will en

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CHAPTER XXVII

It seemed to Jacob, when he was awakened from a sound sleep about four o’clock the next morning, that his young companion’s farewell words had been vainglorious. He was first of all conscious of the sound of heavy footsteps on the stairs, then the opening of Lord Felixstowe’s door, and the muffled tramp of two men evidently carrying some sort of a burden. A few seconds later there was an apologetic knock at his own door, and Morse presented himself. His evening attire was slightly ruffled, he wa

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CHAPTER XXVIII

Jacob and Lord Felixstowe stood side by side on the deck of a homeward-bound steamer, a few weeks later, watching the pilot come out from Plymouth Harbour. “Some trip,” the latter remarked, with a reminiscent sigh. “I feel as though I’d had the beano of my life.” “You scored it up against me, all right,” Jacob acknowledged. “Those fellows might easily have got away with my hundred thousand pounds. I’m not at all sure that I ought not to settle an annuity on you.” “Nothing doing,” was the prompt

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NOVELS by E. PHILLIPS OPPENHEIM

The Best Story Oppenheim Ever Wrote! With illustrations by Nana French Bickford 12mo. Cloth. 322 pages. “No more successful mystery story was ever written than ‘The Great Impersonation.’ It is indeed a triumph of construction and treatment that holds the attention of the reader from first to last.”— Philadelphia Public Ledger. “‘The Great Impersonation’ is a thoroughly good story with an ingenious plot, and a series of exciting episodes that recall A. Conan Doyle of the days when he was writin

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THE GREAT IMPERSONATION

“‘The Great Impersonation’ will be, and will deserve to be, one of the best sellers of the year.”— The Boston Post. LITTLE, BROWN &amp; CO., Publishers 34 Beacon Street, Boston 1. Minor changes have been made to correct what appear to be typesetters’ errors; otherwise, every effort has been made to remain true to the author’s words and intent. ...

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